


Joy and Life Inside Our Souls

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: "Courfeyrac’s been starting to think that maybe he should talk to Combeferre about it, but no matter how much he wants Jehan to be happy, he’s not sure he can be the one to be so self-sacrificing that he’ll orchestrate the whole thing to the time of his shattering heart. It might be an act of friendship too far for him.It might break him."OR: In which Jehan has a crush that he believes is unrequited because Courfeyrac is obviously in love with Combeferre. And Courfeyrac has a crush which he believes is unrequited because Jehan is obviously in love with Combeferre.





	Joy and Life Inside Our Souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [courfee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfee/gifts), [freckledjolras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledjolras/gifts).



> Here's to all the Courf/Jehan shippers!  
> This is especially for my friends Noah and Franka who are the perfect Jehan and Courfeyrac - you've probably seen pictures of them even if you don't know them - they're both beautiful and wonderful cosplayers, and Franka always craves more Courf/Jehan fic, so this is for them!! But of course, if you're reading this, this is also for you, and for me, and for all of us. So, enjoy.  
> (Title from No One Else from Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet - so sorry to anyone who's a fan for the closing, I'm heart-broken. Also if you don't know the show - PLEASE LISTEN TO THE ALBUM IT'S SO WONDERFUL)

Courfeyrac and Combeferre are holding hands again. Which is fine. It’s not like the very thought makes Jehan want to curl up and die or anything. His heart sinks in his chest as he stares, bitterly jealous, at Combeferre’s fingers curled around Courfeyrac’s. He’d give anything to hold his hand.

He knows how it feels from the two times it’s happened.

The first time was underscored by heart-breaking sadness and Jehan struggles to romanticise the moment, too tugged down by tears, fear, and fury. Courfeyrac’s grip was a vice, his face soaked with tears, pinched with horror, the first time they had seen a friend truly hurt in their fight to help. The only reason their hands clasped was because they happened to be standing next to each other as the ambulance pulled away. It didn’t last longer than a handful of seconds. Courfeyrac pulled away, determined to arrive at the hospital to be there for his friend. Jehan was only a second behind him.

The second time, oh, the second time… Now that was something to be romanticised. Something to be replayed again and again in his mind’s eye, something to write poem after poem about, have dream after dream about. Jehan can close his eyes and see exactly how Courfeyrac looked, golden glitter around his eyes, that bright yellow sweater, that freckle just above the corner of his mouth that Jehan always wants to kiss, that fucking beautiful crooked smile… Oh, he _loved_ him in that moment. He could think about that moment _forever_. Hands brushing hands, fingers curling around each other’s tentatively at first, braver and braver. It doesn’t make any sense, never happened again, but _oh_ , that moment.

And now, Jehan sits and tugs at his hair, forehead pinched as he watches Courfeyrac and Combeferre with such sharp envy. It’s not like he has to watch them kiss, not like he’s ever seen them leave together at the end of a night, wandering hands and suggestive giggles shared, not like he expects an invite to a wedding, but Courfeyrac is clearly _so in love_.

So in love with _Combeferre_ , his best friend, his confidant, a level of trust that Jehan would struggle to even come close to replicating. It’s so painful to watch. He wants Courfeyrac to be happy more than anything, but does Courfeyrac’s happiness have to come at the cost of Jehan’s? He’s not sure he could take that deal.

While staring he accidentally catches Courfeyrac’s eye, and in the second it takes him to look away, he sees Courfeyrac’s smile drop into a frown. Jehan forces his eyes back to his notepad in front of him, pen twirling around his fingers anxiously. He hasn’t written a single word for twenty minutes, despite sitting there with his quickly cooling vanilla coffee and not talking to a single person, trying to work by soaking in the sun through the window and the happy chatting of the café residents.

Something other than work caught his mind.

He puts pen to paper and forces himself to come up with two new ways to describe the way looking at Courfeyrac right now makes him feel. An overflowing bath, bubbles choking him as they spill out onto the floor. Watching a stranger remove items from your room bit by bit and packing them into boxes, no sense of order or collections.

He won’t look at Courfeyrac again, not while he’s sitting with Combeferre. And it’s so painful, because Jehan adores Combeferre, is so grateful to have him as a friend, but at the same time simply can’t handle him right now. Jehan glances. He sees Courfeyrac quickly looking away from him and his stomach twists violently. He’s probably wondering why Jehan won’t stop staring.

 

Courfeyrac’s hand is too hot in Combeferre’s hold. He smiles at Combeferre and pulls it away. These feelings are affecting him too much, and there are moments – like right now – when he can feel it affecting his friendship with Combeferre.

But Jehan is so clearly jealous, so clearly angry at Courfeyrac for holding Combeferre’s hand like he doesn’t know Jehan would give anything to trade places. There’s lead sitting in Courfeyrac’s stomach. The fact that Jehan’s feelings for Combeferre make him jealous of the close friendship between Combeferre and Courfeyrac isn’t even the worst of it.

The worst is that Courfeyrac loves Jehan. Loves him ardently, passionately, utterly. Loves him for sitting there, caught up in his emotions for Combeferre, wearing a flower crown for no other reason than that it makes him happy to do so. Loves him for being beautiful, loves him for being talented, loves him for being everything that makes him so unique and incredible and still so unbearably _real_.

Courfeyrac loves Jehan in a way that stops his breath, slows his heart, and calms his thoughts.

Except for the searing pain of knowing Jehan loves someone else – knowing Jehan loves _Combeferre_.

After catching Jehan’s eye, seeing the hurt there, the longing in the gaze, it felt so wrong to hold Combeferre’s hand. It doesn’t matter that Courfeyrac and Combeferre are lifelong friends, to flaunt their closeness in front of a clearly hurting Jehan seems wrong.

Courfeyrac’s been starting to think that maybe he should talk to Combeferre about it, but no matter how much he wants Jehan to be happy, he’s not sure he can be the one to be so self-sacrificing that he’ll orchestrate the whole thing to the time of his shattering heart. It might be an act of friendship too far for him.

It might break him.

“You okay?” Combeferre asks, voice low, leaning in to ask him quietly.

Courfeyrac looks at him and smiles. “I’m fine,” he says.

Oh, Courfeyrac is jealous. He understands so completely why Jehan would look over at Courfeyrac and Combeferre and choose Combeferre. It makes sense. Combeferre is so calm and gentle, there are so many similarities between Jehan and Combeferre, a shared love of quietness and the beauty in utter peace, and while Courfeyrac can understand the way they feel about such moments, he's too much for stillness, driven to movement and action by ADHD and a love for adrenaline and thrill.

He'd try to stay motionless for Jehan, though. He'd try to sit and read and watch Jehan write and experience the beauty of a tranquil morning for Jehan. He'd _want_ to do that for Jehan, he'd _love_ to do that for Jehan. 

Combeferre nudges him, and Courfeyrac leans in to hear what he has to say. “Jehan's looking at you,” is what Combeferre tells him, a quiet secret shared with a grin in his voice.

The words bring a terrible blush to Courfeyrac's face and he blurts out, “No,” instantly – far too quickly, the speed showing his own infatuation.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow in that infuriating way that Combeferre mastered at the age of twelve while Courfyerac's spent his entire life trying to be able to do.

Looking away from Combeferre, Courfeyrac explains, “He's not looking at me,” words coming out a little sulky. “He's... He's been looking at _you_.” These words hurt, scald his throat, jealousy burning bitterly. 

Combeferre stares at him for a second, processing, and it's agonising, knowing that any second now Combeferre's going to understand that Jehan likes him and it'll be all over for Courfeyrac. He'll never be able to come here again, never be able to be around his friends, unable to watch Combeferre and Jehan besotted with one another. Then Combeferre laughs.  _Laughs_ . 

“You're joking,” Combeferre says, flatly, but something amused underneath.

“What?” Courfeyrac asks, defensive. Does he really have to spell it out for him?

“He's really not looking at me,” Combeferre says, utterly bemused.

“Yes, he is,” Courfeyrac says, because what else could Jehan possibly be looking at? Combeferre is an easy one to fall for, and Courfeyrac remembers his own crush on his friend, back when they were teenagers and Combeferre's steadyness mixed with the way he'd let go and suddenly become the most fun in the world was so wonderful.

“No, he's not,” Combeferre insists. He's looking at Courfyerac like he's never seen anyone be so ridiculous in his entire life. It's a familiar look on Combeferre's face, though it's usually directed at Courfeyrac as a part of a group, or at least Enjolras too, when Courfeyrac's wildness is encouraged by a mob into something potentially dangerous or ilegal, just the way his friends like to roll.

“Why else would he keep glancing over here all guilty-like?” Courfeyrac asks, indignant.

A beat passes in which Combeferre and Courfeyrac look at each other, Courfeyrac waiting on a reasonable answer and Combeferre waiting on Courfeyrac to figure it out for himself.

Combeferre gives in. “He's looking at _you_ , Courf,” he explains. 

“What? No,” Courfeyrac denies again, quick, but his eyes jump to Jehan, hope scorching through his veins, as furious as the jealousy was.

“He likes you, Courf,” Combeferre says, as though it was as simple, as obvious as that, as if that was even a thing that was _possible,_ as Courfeyrac looks at Jehan, watching him run a hand through the ends of his his thick jaw-length hair, so beautiful, so perfect for playing with.

Courfeyrac looks down at the table. “Don't, Ferre.” His stomach is burning with shame at his eagerness for it to all be true. “This isn't fair.” He runs a hand over the back of his hair, ruffling it up and willing his cheeks to stop burning red.

Combeferre is frowning at him – Courfeyrac can see him out of the corner of his eye. “Courf, I wouldn't lie to you. I know how much this means to you. He likes you, I swear.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head, pitifully. “I... I want to believe you, Ferre. I do. I...”

“What if I asked him? Confirmed it for you?” Combeferre offers.

Courfeyrac's head shoots up, eyes wide. “You can't tell him! Don't you dare!” he exclaims, horrified.

“I wouldn't have to,” Combeferre says, gently. “I could... just ask after _his_ feelings.” 

The need to know is roiling in Courfeyrac's stomach, but the thought of finding out – finding out it's  _not_ true... He's not sure he could handle that. The only thing keeping him going sometimes is the 'what if' of it all. The 'maybe'; the 'it could be'. “I don't want it confirmed that he doesn't want me,” Courfeyrac says bitterly. 

“I promise you, he does,” Combeferre responds instantly. “Let me prove it. Let me ask him.”

“I...” Courfeyrac swallows. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “If you're sure. Don't do this if you're not, Ferre.”

Combeferre smiles. “I'm very sure.” He presses Courfeyrac's hand briefly before getting up. Courfeyrac takes a deep breath and trusts in Combeferre. Like he always does.

It's so difficult to not watch the conversation – Courfeyrac pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls helplessly though Instagram, not really looking at his screen, eye lifted a little to peek through his lashes at Jehan.

Jehan lifts a graceful hand to his cheek in a delicate sign of being flustered as Combeferre talks to him. Jehan nods, delcately. He sees Jehan say, “Oh,” and then Jehan's eyes find Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac breathes in, and forgets to breathe out. His palms are sweating, he's not even pretending to scroll anymore.

Heart in his throat, Courfeyrac watches as a smile drifts across Jehan's face, and then Jehan rises out of his chair. His hand drifts across Combeferre's shoulder as he passes, a wordless... something. And then Jehan stands before Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac puts his phone in his pocket, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He looks up at Jehan with nervous eyes.

“Come with me,” Jehan says, reaching out for Courfeyrac’s hand, which he gives willingly, trustingly.

Courfeyrac lifts up onto his feet automatically, gently led by Jehan's soft gaze. “Where are we going?” he asks.

“On a date,” Jehan says. “Somewhere beautiful.”

Courfeyrac is helpless to do anything but follow happily, and Jehan's hand in his feels so wonderful, their skin finally touching with nothing held back, no pretense at friendship – this is romance. Shared emotion, shared excitement.

Jehan takes them to the museum down the street, filled to the brim with beautiful art, and Courfeyrac throat is dry as he follows Jehan down the corridors and through the halls barely looking at the art because the paintings could never compare to Jehan's beauty.

Eventually they sit on a bench in a large, empty room, that echoes with every movement, but neither of them speak. Jehan sits crosslegged, and Courfyerac sits beside him, staring at the wall, feelings building and building and building until he can't take it anymore and he turns and meets Jehan in a kiss that makes Courfeyrac feel like he'll never die, in a room surrounded by art, _kissing_ art itself, in love and so alive. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [COURFEYRAC](https://twitter.com/rabenschwarts/status/841238122264461312) as seen in this fic (IT'S FRANKA!)  
> and [THE ART MUSEUM DATE](https://twitter.com/miinyard/status/885812786131066880) as at the end! (IT'S NOAH AND FRANKA!)  
> Check me out on [twitter](http://twitter.com/wonderfeuilly) and [tumblr](http://tumblr.com/nerds-are-cool) if you’d like! And if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)  
> A few things, please read if you're subscribed to me or consider being:  
> For the next ten months (start date: 19th August 2017) I will be driving from England to South Africa with my family! I will have some internet access along the way and will always check AO3 when I do and post anything I’ve written but 1) response to comments may be slow – they are still appreciated and I will write back whenever I can, and 2) I won’t have loads of free time on the laptop as I will be sharing the laptop with three other people, so my writing time is greatly diminished. 
> 
> Apologies for lack of fiction over the next ten months. 
> 
> If you’re interested in the trip – our facebook page is Are We There Yet Africa, and if you’d like to donate money to help us while we’re out there and to help us get back on our feet when we return to England (where we won’t have a house waiting for us aaahhh) my paypal is cait@thereeves.org.uk. Obviously not a requirement, just if you happen to have lots of money and are interested!  
> Thanks for your patience!


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